What Maggie Can’t Do.

Maggie died and no one knows what to do, and since doing happens no matter if you’re in bed staring at the wall, or standing under a stream of water not remembering it’s the shower, why not get purposeful about it, control the doing and name it? When people you are close to die, it shifts the way you look and feel and behave and believe, and the amount you can do about any of that is so limited that people tend to channel their energy in a set number of ways.  Some people put their efforts into organizing memorials or celebrations or events for the person, others start scholarship funds or donate something in their name. Me, I write. And cry. And stare. Sometimes I do all three at the same time. Maggie was really into her blogging and I am really into neglecting my blogging, but I’m starting to think about all the things Maggie is being denied. Apart from the people she loved who loved her, her dogs, her burgeoning real estate career, there’s writing, and more specifically blogging. She loved it; I hate it, but I’m alive and she’s not and maybe I should start doing it because she can’t. But then I think about all the things I want to write about and all the reasons I don’t, and then I forget and then I remember again. Of course there’s also yoga, which she can’t do anymore either, and which I also don’t like doing, but I’d rather blog because I hate it less than I hate yoga. I also don’t like taking my dog out at night because I live in a four storey walk-up and I’m lazy. But, that I really have to do, like right now.


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